The Inner War
by Hey Lady Hey
Summary: SiegXRaph !Chapter 3! 'It's not the war below that matters, it's the one that sword is wrecking inside.'
1. Fireworks

The Inner War

Chapter 1: Fireworks

PG (Angsty)

By Muhsaysthecow

Siegfried/Raphael-ish

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Author's note: I like the begining of this story. :P If I wrote like this more I would have a book published by now...

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There is a battle going on below us. In Wallachia, an army has gathered to fight against a man and his daughter. It's only a small squadron, with only one true general and many inexperienced foot soldiers. But the fact they sent anyone is enough. They know this is dangerous. They know something is coming from that supposedly deserted castle, where at night faint lights flicker and sometimes the shadow of a human passes by the window. Supposedly, things live there, things that are infected with a sickness that is spreading.

They do not want to knock down the castle. It is black, and crumbling, and it is cursed; there are things that happened there, murders and conspiracies. Nobody remembers the details anymore, but the old tales of the wandering ghosts and being possessed by the vampires keeps the young Calvary at bay. They will not storm the place, not now, not ever, unless the King himself forces them to enter the castle that they fear so much.

So they will bide their time. There are only two demons in there, a man and his daughter. Even though some men will wake up the next day with holes through their bodies and blood seeping from their mouths, they will bide their time. They are more afraid of the fiction that is the wives tales then the fact that is Raphael Sorel and his daughter Amy.

The army shoots rags covered with strong oil, lighting it on fire as the spring is sprung and the ammo is sent flying through the air. They hit the walls of the castle with sick thumps, sliding down and catching whatever is flammable on the ground. The army prefers to use these mostly harmless things the most against a stone castle. The sky is never dark in Wallachia because of them.

Raphael says these are his fireworks. He says it as he stands on the balcony of his castle, sweeping his hand out towards the forces. "They are just for me, and you, and Amy." He says, walking toward the edge. "And they, they are the ants, waiting to be squashed by me, mindless and dull ants."

"They have minds, like you or I." I tell him, quietly watching as a rag sores above our heads. "They are not ants. Humans, just like us."

"What do you know?" He replies, but I know he is bothered. His red eyes glow in a vicious way, but they belly the fear that is lurking within him. Raphael thinks he is a better breed then the men down below; but what _is_ he if he is not a human like everyone else?

A demon. He fears the demon inside him, yet nurtures it and encourages the sadistic tendencies. He says he does this for Amy, but that too is a lie. She is a girl, too young and too deprived of world sense to know that her Father is doing wrong, yet she senses that he is doing this for ulterior reasons. That he does not want to just change the world, but conquer and control it.

I am quiet as I seat myself on the edge of the balcony. Raphael sits next to me, elbows on his knees as he watches them move down below.

"Siegfried, if they are human, then why are they attacking their own brethren?" His question is quiet, a slow whisper over the cling and the clang of war.

"They are not attacking me, Raphael." I say, all too quietly, even more softer then his question. I do not look over at him, just watch the fireworks, because I know I have wounded him more then anyone could with a blade.

"You are stupid. You do not see their density, but I have seen how they mill around, only here to kill and destroy. You only see the goodness in everything. Too optimistic." His voice is harsh and thick with emotion.

I bite my lip, and I look over at the blonde haired demon, his eyes locked onto the flashes of light. He knows what I have to say before I even say it.

"What would I see in you if I were not optimistic?"

"A wonderful man-"

"You should have rid yourself of that sword."

"I should have rid myself of _you_." He hisses, standing and walking away from me. His steps are heavy against the stone, and my eyes follow him until he disappears down the stairs, down into the castle.

I turn my back against him, my eyes once more on the lit rags flying through the air. The fireworks look awfully pretty, reflected against the armor of the ants.

---

This is going to be more then a one part story, that's for sure. I'm not sure what, or when, I'll be adding more chapters, but I have at least four more chapters planned. They will all be short and done in the 'one-shot' kind of manner I wrote here. Whenever I get the inspiration, I'll write them, I guess...

Want to roleplay Sieg/Raph or any other pairings I write? Email me at moosaysthecow at comcast dot net, or just review.

-Muh


	2. Demon

Chapter Two: Demon

Pg-13 (gore, light slash)

By Muh Says The Cow

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_Tiptoe through the darkness-  
Whisper down the lane;  
There's a demon in the anthills,  
Wielding edged rain_

_Wash out the anthills;  
drown them with the rain.  
the demon doesn't think  
the ants feel any pain._

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Red eyes shone through the darkness, illuminated in a chillingly ghostly way every time the fire rags tore through the night. He walked with an unnatural quiet, almost as if his feet did not even touch the barren ground beneath him. Maybe he didn't; the demon was said to almost float, to ghost into tents so quietly that mice did not even know he was there until he would strike down upon them.

The demon had two arms- the right, a human arm, but the left, a spike. Or maybe it was a sword. It was hard to tell the difference where metal began and flesh ended. They seemed to mold into each other, like some twisted claw of sorts. And he wielded the weapon as if it was his own arm, so surely one would almost think he was born with it in hand. The sword flashed, metal reflecting the lights of the war. It was such a beautifully crafted rapier. Such a beautiful and deadly thing, so wicked and terrible.

On the cage of the rapier, the eye blinked slowly, looking around calmly. No, they are two different entities, the sword and the demon. The demon is the host. The sword is the parasite, controlling its killing machine with precision. Beautiful, wicked, and _smart_.

The demon stalked on, emotionless as the sword in his hand. He needed souls. He needed souls to eat, or the sword would destroy him. His own was already stained by the malicious parasite. The demon doubted he could ever live without the sword anymore. He needed it as much as it needed him. They fed their own desires together, these nights of hunting and killing.

He could sense it. There were some people nearby- and a smile curled over the demon's lips.

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Leroy was a common peasant, not good enough for a last name. He was a father of three children, all girls, which he often lamented about late at night over a bottle of whiskey with his wife of five years. In this time, having a daughter was considered all right. (Females were not as good as boys; a female was only an underdeveloped male, never given enough time in the womb to grow genitalia.) In the 1600's, having as many as he did was considered ill luck. He had no heir. He had no way of making money. All he could do was sell his daughters off as brides, given if they were pretty enough.

Two of his daughters, thankfully, were married off to tobacco merchants at the ages of 17 and 16, respectively. But his one, his youngest, was a rebel. She was the topic of most of his complains and ails. Annabel was already 15, old enough to marry off, but refused outright to. She made a mess of herself at every showing, and often spoke about wanting to run away and join the army, which was often met with stern words and no supper.

Around the campfire, on cold nights when all of the men in the small battalion surrounding the castle were bored and restless, they would talk about their lives. Complain, compare, and criticize. Leroy was infamous as the most pessimistic of them all, moaning about his good for nothing daughter over a bottle of grimy alcohol.

"She's good-for-nuthin', a hungry, bitchin' mouth jus' t' feed every day..."

"You must love 'er; just a little?" He was a new recruit, having come the other day by foot. He was a skittish, nervous man, with short brown hair, a clean-shaven face and large eyes.

"Humph. Maybe a little, but..." It was only him, and the new recruit out here tonight, sitting by the dying embers of the fire. He looked down at his canteen. "I jus' wish I had a son. T' have a heir so I don' have t' lose everythin' when I'm gone..."

"I... understand." The young man said softly, his voice cracking slightly. There was silence between the two, only the sounds of the night accompanying them.

"Nngh, m'head hurts." Leroy blurted out. He scratched the top of his head, dark brunette peppered with gray.

"You can go to sleep. I'll keep watch." The man offered, smiling. Leroy bit his lip, standing.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. Go get some rest." He said, patting the older man on the shoulder. Leroy grunted, stumbling into the tent nearby that was his. The young recruit, Andrew, sighed and poked at the fire with a nearby stick. This part of the battlefield was dark, lit by the individual fires of the camp. The other side was shooting the fire, letting this squadron rest. It was relatively dark out, and everything was lit in stark shadows and lights.

Embers flew up. Something in the bushes glowed. Eyes. Red. Before he could even grab his sword, the demon had pounced, grabbing the young man and shoving him to the ground.

"No! _No! _Sp-spare me, 'm not really a soldier-" He was shrieking, his voice oddly high-pitched as he ripped his shirt open. There were bandages over his chest, and he pointed to them urgently as the demon watched him, a boot digging into a shoulder and the horrible claw point right near his soft throat.

"Who th'hell is out there!" Leroy burst- more tumbled out of the tent, his rusty sword held high. "Who dare co-" A look of horror crossed his face as he saw the demon, looming over...

"Annabel?" He whispered softly. But then his vocal chords were ripped out, the sword giving a twitch across pale flesh. He let out a gurgled cry and fell in a pained heap. The young girl underneath the demon was struggling, crying, yelling.

"_Father! Father!"_

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Father!

_'Aren't I a father?... I, I am, aren't I?'_

_'Kill them both, the other is as good as dead-'_

_'I didn't want to kill him! Why did you-'_

Shut up_, Raphael, and do as I say. Destroy her. She is nothing. Relationships are for the weak. What is family but the bonds of blood? And blood can be spilt. Kill them both!'_

_'NO!'_

He felt the girl move out from under his boot, sobbing and yelling, shrieking. Somebody help! We need backup! The demon! And then she was grabbing her father's sword, raising it-

_'Don't kill her please- just parry it, no-'_

Scream.

There were others coming. They were drawn to the scream and a pair of red glowing eyes that seemed as shocked as they were. The creature- for it was naught but a creature, some twisted man that had stumbled down the wrong path- rose it's sword, but was walking backward, a look of terror on his face. But it wasn't from them- it was from the corpses in front of him that caused the creature so much grief.

He nearly dropped the sword. The demon curled up, falling into the back recesses of his mind as Raphael turned and ran, gasping and panting as he jumped over brush just minutes ago he glided smoothly past. It was a mad race against his own fears, seeing if they would catch up with them before he reached the castle of Wallachia. A branch snagged at his clothes, tearing a gaping hole in the sleeve, and he stumbled more then once on a root.

Up ahead, he finally spotted the bush that was his refuge. Panting and gasping, he fell to his knees next to it, pushing the large, prickly plant aside. He crawled through to the middle, ignoring the stinging pain of the nettles as his shaking hands finally found the feel of wood beneath him. He slid his hand forward, finally finding the latch, and with a sharp shove the wooden door fell through. Raphael fell, and he managed to grab the wooden staircase nestled against the wall of the pit. He clung to it tightly, shaking and carefully pulling the door back on. The light from outside was blocked out, and he was left in darkness.

Complete and utter darkness.

He climbed down quickly, nearly falling as he jumped down the rungs of the ladder. His feet hit the cold stone beneath him, and he staggered through the pitch black. Raphael didn't need light. This was his wine cellar, where he always crawled back into to get to the main castle. There was nothing to see in such a dark except the tears that blurred his vision that made his breath haggard as he climbed the stairs up. He pushed open the door, holding back a choking sob as he stumbled into the foyer.

The usually empty greeting room had one lone occupant; Siegfried Schtuaffen, asleep in a chair he had dragged in from the dining room, his head rested against his own shoulder. He awoke at the sound of Raphael's sobs, blinking blearily as the man walked over to him.

His eyes immediately softened at the Frenchman's state, tears down his face and his clothing in shreds. But that damn sword was still in his hand. "Oh, Raphael..."

"I killed... a girl, Siegfried, a girl- my god, I killed a child! A girl! Amy! It could have been..." He sobbed, gasping for breath as Siegfried stood and met him in a fierce embrace, rocking slightly in an attempt to lull the other into a sort of calm. Feeling the thin, shuddering man under him made tears nearly spring from his own eyes.

"Shhh, shh... Don't cry, Raphael... "

He sobbed, burying his face into the other's chest. "Could have been Amy... could have been Amy..."

"Shh..." He glared at the sword, lying in its original long-sword form on the ground. He swore it chuckled. And his arms wrapped a little tighter around the trembling Raphael.

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_Raph-a-el Sorel  
__The demon is nigh  
__He's holds such cunning-  
__Beware the wandering eye_

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Author's Note: Part deux is here. It's alright... I'm more happy with the first chapter. To give you a rough outline, the next chapter is called 'Amy', chapter 4 is 'Love Bites', chapter 5 is 'War'. They'll be out whenever I feel like writing them. XP

Please review. I always respond to reviews, so don't worry, I'll show my appreciation. :) If you want to read some more fiction about Raphael, I wrote a story called 'When Angels Cry'. It's a fic about Raphael and Amy, and how Raph is such a good daddy! Heheh, I know he is. Even with the whole... sword possesion thing.

A bientot!


	3. Amy

Chapter Three:Amy

PG

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Raphael is my father. He is the most caring person I have ever met. He loves blindly and strongly. When I directed the soldiers away from the haggard Frenchman, more so because I had a personal vendetta against them then to save someone's life, I did not realize what would happen from then on. My life changed.

Raphael is my savior. He took me from the small, poor town that harbored my sadness. He acquired a lovely mansion in southern France, where the weather was pleasant and mild, and the hills gently sloped. I remember him teaching me to read in the large library, filled with musty tomes that smelled of a mixture of pipe smoke and dust. I grew to love that smell. Raphael and I were always in there long hours, where we would play, carefree.

Raphael is my protector. I hated the world. The world and I have never mixed well, like oil and water. It was always out to get me. I was fearful of people, fearful of men and other beasts. They brought back ill memories of soldiers on horseback. He tried to introduce me to some other small children that lived near. But I shied away. Wouldn't you do the same, if you thought that maybe, just maybe, the person you think is alright may grow into one of _them_? So he kept the world out. It was just us in the small library.

Raphael is my parent. He worries like one. He worried quite a lot when he found a letter in the study, detailing about a special sword. It has an eye. Its name is Soul Edge. When he found that letter, Raphael played less. He became a parent. He worried much more- mostly about what would happen if the sword fell into the wrong hands. But what he worried most of all was the future. For us. That was always on his mind.

I think that's what made him go out to find that sword.

Because Raphael is my father, Raphael is my savior, my protector... my parent. He left me with plenty of money, and the keys of the house, and promised, _"I'll be home soon.."_

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Raphael was my patient. I nearly broke down from the shock at seeing him crawl through the door of our house, mangled by some ill-looking wounds. But I treated him with care. I remembered all of the things he taught me, taking the books about herbs and health from the library. I gave him all of the care he had given me. Even though after a while, I began to feel a bit sluggish during the day, I cared for my Father. I nursed him back to health. I was never happier then when he regained enough strength to read me a ballad from our favorite book.

Raphael was amber eyed. But now it is red. Just like mine. I don't really mind. I think it makes us look like we are related. I do hate the other things, though, that came from the wounds. Like being tired at night, and that thirst for something. I don't know what it is. But he gives me a drink before bed, so that I don't awake in the middle of the day, my stomach filled with hunger pangs of a different kind. It was thick, and a little bitter, but it felt warm going down into my stomach. I did not mind. At least Raphael was now home.

Raphael was the lord of the mansion. But then we had to move. The people disliked how we looked, and how we could never come out during the day because the sun fatigued us so. They mobbed violently, shouting names- _Dracula, Dracula_- at our house door, banging. We left southern France. We left. I cried when we left the library. I loved it so.

Raphael was anxious. Unbearably anxious when we traveled. He smiled little. But we did finally find a home- a very large, decrepit castle. The library was big, but it wasn't the same. I spent many hours with him in there, though are readings weren't the same. I was reading the classics. And in his hands, I always noticed tomes of sword technique and war formations. He was still anxious, but it was a nervous sort, that ran under all of his current emotions, because he was awaiting something. He kept assuring me that one-day, _"The world will open to you- and you shall be able to accept it back at your own ease."_ I noticed that he was disappearing in the middle of the night, leaving me to read in the library alone, and barely getting back before the sun rose. One night, he came in with a burnt hand. I asked what had happened. He just quietly passed me by and went into his bedroom.

A few days later, he told me that he needed to leave again. I tried to convince him to stay. I was fearful for him. The world was getting meaner, and it had its eyes on us. I threw a tantrum. I talked calmly. I debated. I fought. He refused everything I said. That was, until the army came. The world was after us. But he merely drew his sword, kissing me on the top of the head and heading out into the throng of soldiers.

Raphael was my patient, was amber eyed, was a lord, and was anxious... and now he was gone. I felt so _alone_.

---

Raphael will return. I said this in my mind, for a long while. After a few nights, the army quieted down. They dispersed, and left, along with my father, I suppose. I did not go out, and I did not go out on the balcony. I was alone in the castle. I suppose it was a month, before they returned again. They came with fire. That's all I could see, throughout the night, balls of flame. For the first few weeks, I watched. The field caught fire rapidly. Everything around the area burnt to a crisp, leaving charred ground underneath. It only took them a week to destroy the whole field, so that naught but rocks and their own tents were left. Everything was cleared.

Raphael will be coming soon... I said this a month after, quietly, not as resigned as before. I am tired. I am getting tired. And I am afraid. I spent my time studying weapons, picking up an old rapier from his room. I practiced. Once, in the middle of the night, two soldiers tried to get in through the balcony. I jumped out, brandishing the sword, trying to act brave. It worked. They ran off. It happened again. Someone was coming through the secret passageway through the wine cellar, and I waited quietly, before I stepped out, yelling. My father met my sword, slightly surprised, before hugging me tightly.

Raphael will get rid of him after awhile, I think, as I watch the blonde-haired German man quietly throughout the day. The man with the scar seems quiet, troubled with a burden that I do not know. His shoulders droop slightly, and he acts like he has been defeated. I asked Raphael. He did not give me a straight answer, and I'm perplexed as to what this man is. Prisoner? Or is he the one who brought the sword with the eye to my Father? I don't think he is a prisoner. He wanders freely, yet he doesn't leave. During the day, I do hear them bicker. But, despite this, he is a nice man. He smiles at me. Perhaps he isn't bad.

Raphael will change the world. That's what he wants to do... I am afraid. There is something different about my father. I think it's the one-eyed sword. Siegfried- the German, that is his name-, has told me that the sword is evil. But he is too weak to take it from him. I fear for my father's sanity, though I still believe that he is doing this for me. I remind Siegfried that, and his face turns a little grimmer. Raphael tells me he will make the world accept us.

I am afraid. Today, I visited the library. I picked a book I hadn't read since I was younger. As a page mark, I noticed the letter. It was from the house in Southern France. The letter about the eyed sword.

I burnt it. It reminded me of the fires outside.

Raphael calls them his fireworks.

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Author's Note: I like this chapter. I liked how it progressed. Amy was always a mature child, but I made the writing mature a bit more as the story went on. Plus, the sorta style thing I had going on, I liked how that turned out too... anyway, review please. And favorite. ;D I'll try to reply to all reviews.


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